


Comeuppance

by CarvcrEdlund



Series: Lucifer Meets World [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Play, Bottom Lucifer, Crowley Being an Asshole, Darkfic, Hate Sex, Human Lucifer, I don't know how to tag this, I've never written anything this dark before I'm sorry, Kinda, Lucifer gets fucked by a dog, Lucifer is depressingly optimistic, M/M, Other, Post-Episode: s12e03 The Foundry, Role Switch, The foundry, Top Crowley, Torture Porn, Victim Lucifer, also kinda - Freeform, ambiguously happy ending?, beastiality, forced blowjob, it's really messy and violent, season 12, season 12 au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8283517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarvcrEdlund/pseuds/CarvcrEdlund
Summary: Lucifer finally gets his just desserts for all the Hell he's put Crowley through.• • •
  Crowley leans down to hiss at him hatefully. “You may think you’ve experienced torture, Lucifer, but all that is going to be nothing compared to the pain and humiliation I’ve planned for you, pet.” 
  “Promises.” Lucifer grunts, throwing caution to the wind. “You’re all bark and no bite, puppy.” His situation can hardly get any worse than it already is, anyways. Well. Perhaps he shouldn't get ahead of himself. The Winchesters could join the party.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very _dark_ fic. I must have been in a _really_ bad mood when I wrote this.
> 
> Do not read if you are at all squeamish, really love Lucifer, etc.
> 
> Trigger warning for rape, abuse, all the bad stuff.

Crowley had been waiting for this moment for so long. “ _Finally,”_ he starts, relishing the slightly shocked flinch his voice elicits from the other being, “You’ve no _idea_ how satisfying this is for me. It took me ages, but I finally turned over the right rock. How does it feel, being constantly on the run, daddy-o?” 

He delights in his words, taking his time advancing on the trapped being. Now he understood how gratifying it is to be on this side of the hunt. He spent months after his stunt during the apocalypse scurrying from filthy hovel to filthier hovel. Now it’s his turn to play the feline in this deadly game of cat-and-mouse. 

Lucifer, for his part, refused to look afraid. He drops the spray paint can in his hand, immediately taking the defensive. His blue eyes darted towards the door, but with a wave of Crowley’s hand, the room’s only table flew towards it and blocked off his only escape route. The other door stood tauntingly open behind Crowley, but the Devil would never reach it in time. 

Seeing that running isn’t an option, Lucifer raises his chin and decides to greet this threat with as much grace as he can muster and with defiance in his eyes. “Can’t say I’d recommend it. Too many unwanted visitors.” 

Crowley tsk’d, smiling as he casually strolled towards the tense fallen angel. “Now, is that any way to treat your guest, Sunshine? I mean, here I am, going out of my way to track you down, and you haven’t even offered me a drink.”

• • •

. . . 

Perhaps some context is in order. 

After Amara and God’s big prize fight, Lucifer was badly injured. He had to hop from vessel to vessel, burning them all out far too quickly to get anything done. He finally found one man, Vince Vincent, who could hold him. Not forever, but long enough. 

He went to take hell back from Crowley (who had successfully gained Rowena’s help in his plight), and barely came out on top. 

And rather than just off her again, the devil kept her around. Chained to his side like a disobedient pet. 

Lucifer should have known better than to insult a Witch in such a way. 

And then he ordered her to enchant his vessel to be strong enough to hold him permanently. 

Really, in hindsight, he was definitely asking for everything that came to him. 

Rowena made his vessel strong enough to contain him permanently, alright. But not by making the body more durable. No, she simply plucked his grace out, robbing him of all his power. 

So for the time being, Lucifer is. . . _Human_. 

He almost wished she’d just killed him. At least it would have been less tedious. 

She wasn’t entirely unfair, though. She did give him a two-day head start, before she went ahead told her ‘dear boyo’ what she’d done. 

She also told the Winchesters and just about anyone else who would listen. She’s very proud of herself, evidently. Her only regret is letting him run off rather than keeping his pretty little self around for her to toy with. 

So now she wanted him back, Crowley wanted his revenge, and the Winchesters wanted him for reasons that go without saying. 

And now it seems that Crowley has won the three-way race to hunt down the Devil. 

The devil; who looked the same as ever, strong and defiant despite his significant disadvantage. 

Rowena had obviously played around with his grace after stealing it, for Lucifer looked the same as he had in the cage, that blonde and blue-eyed vessel she had mooned over while watching him from afar. 

Either way, Crowley was glad for it. This was the face he hated most. Not some stranger, not a washed-up old rock star, and not the twisted version of one of his few friends that Lucifer had been before. He felt justified in being as brutal as he pleased with this particular form. 

Those icy blue eyes tightened into a glare of hatred as Crowley neared him ever-so-slowly. He seemed to take a moment to compose himself before finally speaking, when Crowley stood only a few feet from him. “Here’s your drink, asswipe.” Quick as a flash, he whipped a previously unnoticed flask from his side, flicking it open and flinging the contents at Crowley in one fluid motion. 

The demon recoiled as holy water sprayed over him, burning wherever it came in contact with his skin. As soon as he was distracted, Lucifer made a break for the door, bolting past Crowley with the kind of speed that a human only achieves when running on adrenaline. 

“Oh no, you don’t.” The ex-crossroads demon growled, eyes glossing over to a solid red as he flung one hand out and the door slammed shut the second before Lucifer reached it. The fallen angel didn’t stop, however, just turning himself as he ran so as to bust the door down with his shoulder. 

It worked, and Lucifer _almost_ made it out to the heavily-warded (stolen) car parked outside. 

But not quite. 

He broke through the door, and … ran straight into Crowley. “Aren’t you just a slippery snake.” The demon king growls, skin still sizzling from the holy water. He makes to grip the front of Lucifer’s worn shirt, but. . . 

“Christo!” Lucifer practically shouts, internally cringing at having to resort to that trick. It did the job though, and Crowley flinched involuntarily, just long enough for the ex-angel to duck past him and keep running. 

Not long enough for him to get in the car, however. He managed to wrench one door open, and then he found himself suddenly flying backwards, yanked by some invisible force. He came to a sudden stop against the outer wall of his half-warded one-room shack. Black spots danced in his vision for a second before he successfully focused on the demon that was once again advancing towards him. 

Crowley looked furious. 

Lucifer reached for the kitchen knife he’d carved a demon trap into. It was tucked neatly into the back of his jeans, but the Demon didn’t give him the chance to get ahold of it, pinning his arms to the wall besides him with that obnoxiously invisible force that Lucifer was once so fond of. 

Crowley brushed the remainder of the holy water off of himself, prowling ever closer to his prey. Rather than getting away, Lucifer had only succeeded in pissing off the king of Hell. 

His tone was deceptively mild and amused. “Are you quite done, pet?” He taunts as he draws near once more. 

Lucifer spits at him, successfully hitting his smug face. 

This seems to be Crowley’s breaking point, and his normally calm countenance splits into an ugly scowl. His hand shot up to close around Lucifer’s neck, drawing a surprised and pained yelp from the newly-human Archangel. “You’re going to regret that.” He snarls, forcefully dragging the man from the wall as he snapped his face clean of the devil’s spit. The bade is removed from Lucifer’s jeans as Crowley hauls him back into the shack, and he ditches it by the door after stomping on it hard enough to snap it in half and render it useless. He throws Lucifer to the floor in the centre of the room, relishing the sight of his once-fearsome enemy falling face-forward and barely managing to catch himself. Lucifer released a series of coughs as his windpipe was released from Crowley’s iron grip. 

He made to stand up immediately, but Crowley prevented him from doing so, shoving him back onto his hands and knees the second he began to rise. 

The demon mockingly ruffled his spiky blonde hair. “Stay. That’s a good boy.” 

Lucifer lifted his eyes just enough to glare hatefully at his enemy. “You can’t even come up with your own torments? You really are just a wannab—” 

A swift kick to his ribs prevented him from finishing his thought. The air left him in a rush, causing him to gasp several times to make up for the loss. This is bad. Crowley’s only just gotten here, and Lucifer’s already got bruises scattered across his back, covering his shoulder (he’s pretty sure he’s bleeding there, too), and now on his ribs. He can’t afford to be so weakened. . . 

“I really ought to do something about that mouth of yours.” Crowley mused snidely, circling the blonde. 

Lucifer kept glaring at him, but the look was now tinged with pain. “Then _do_ something, and stop talking about it.” Despite his position and the obvious pain he was in, he managed a cocky smirk. “You’re boring me, doggy.” 

Lucifer was ready for the kick this time. That didn’t mean it hurt any less. 

Crowley decided that Lucifer being on his hands and knees isn’t satisfying enough, and the devil is suddenly forced all the way to the ground by Crowley’s expensively loafer’d foot digging into his back. Crowley leans down to hiss at him hatefully. “You may _think_ you’ve experienced torture, Lucifer, but all that is going to be _nothing_ compared to the _pain_ and _humiliation_ I’ve planned for you, pet.” 

“Promises.” Lucifer grunts, throwing caution to the wind. “You’re all bark and no bite, puppy.” His situation can hardly get any worse than it already is, anyways. Well. Perhaps he shouldn't get ahead of himself. The Winchesters could join the party.

Hell’s King looses a practically feral snarl, digging his heel uncomfortably into Lucifer’s back, right between his shoulder blades. With a wordless shout of rage, the shoe is removed and Lucifer finds himself flung across the room, landing in a heap next to the barricaded door. 

This is what he wanted, and with a burst of strength, he flips the table over to land squarely between Crowley and himself and un-barricade the door. “Exorcisamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio. . .” Something was wrong. Crowley wasn’t reacting to the exorcism like he should be. 

He _should_ be locked in place, eyes glowing red as the demon within the vessel began to be forced out. 

Instead, Crowley merely looked amused as he leisurely advanced once more. “Sorry Lu-lu; can’t get rid of me that easily.” He must have a sealing ward somewhere on his person. _Shit_. Crowley continued speaking. “We’re definitely going to have to work on that mouth of yours, though. I can’t have my new toy giving me lip now, can I?” 

Lucifer felt something cold and heavy settle in his gut. He’s learned recently that it’s called ‘dread’. Rather than give in as plan. . . Plan _d_ fails, Lucifer uses the wall to stand up to his full height, still radiating fearlessness and defiance. “Of course not, but you _would_ know how to be a good dog, wouldn’t you?” The hand on his throat again is expected, but knowing that it’s coming doesn’t make him need the air any less. Regardless, he still gives the demon a careless smirk. “Pathetic. . . I’m human. . . And you’re still inferior.” His neck is released with a wordless expression of anger. When he next speaks, his voice is significantly more dry and raspy. “Do your worst, puppy.” He must be insane, that’s the only logical explanation. Perhaps the lack of air has affected his already-lacking common sense. 

Crowley forces the Devil back against the wall with a forearm pressing harshly into his chest. “Shut your bloody trap, or I’ll shut it for you.” 

Lucifer leaned forward to meet Crowley’s glare head-on. “You. Don’t. Scare. Me.” 

He barely even saw Crowley move before he was suddenly sprawled out on the floor, nose aching from the force it had just met the ground with. He barely had time to register that pain before he was grabbed by the back of the neck and pulled up to his knees. 

Lucifer was still a bit too pain-dazed to focus on Crowley, so the demon gave him a second to lock eyes with him. When he did so, Crowley was sneering at him. “I think I know just how to occupy that nasty tongue of yours.” 

It was then that Lucifer noticed the large bulge deforming Crowley’s black slacks. The bastard was getting off on this, damn him. (In Crowley’s defence, just about everything turns him on. This is the demon who almost died, and then had an orgy before calling for help. He _really_ likes sex.) The offensive thing was right in front of Lucifer’s face. His eyes flicked between Crowley’s sneering expression and the supposed ‘threat’ a few times before he burst out laughing. “Holy Dad above, you think I’m scared of a little cock-sucking? Bring it.” The look of outrage on the demon’s face just made him laugh even more. “Whatever makes you feel like one of the _big boys_ , doggy. This ought’a be _fun_.” 

The Devil’s eyes glinted with mirth, and that only succeeded in further infuriating Crowley. He didn’t go back on his word though, quickly pulling himself out (but not fully removing his slacks, Lucifer didn’t get that much effort). 

Before he could assess the hardening organ, Crowley had a thumb in his mouth, prying his jaw open and unceremoniously shoving his vessel’s (frankly, enormous) cock into Lucifer’s mouth. 

This was very different with an untrained gag reflex, and Lucifer wasn’t quite ready for that first throat-deep thrust, the sore muscles in his semi-crushed oesophagus spasming around it. Needing air is such a huge inconvenience. He made a muffled noise of surprise and anger, which did nothing but drag a pleased moan from the demon above him. Lucifer put his hands up to push back so he can _breathe,_ and do this on _his_ terms, but Crowley wasn’t having any of that, the hand on the back of his neck slipping into his hair and grabbing a handful of it, pulling him in impossibly closer to the demon’s groin. He made a vain attempt to pull back, but the demon was far stronger, and forced him to bury his aching and bleeding nose into the vessel’s thick pubic hairs. 

He couldn’t _breathe_ , so he reflexively jerked back, weaker each time until Crowley finally pulled out far enough for him to gulp down some much-needed air, and then slammed right back in, forcing Lucifer to deep-throat his (easily eight-or-nine inch) cock. (It seems the thing he traded his soul for followed him through Hell. Or he picked his vessel for this reason.) 

The demon got another punishing thrust in before Lucifer regained his wits enough to _bite_ down on Crowley’s dick, aiming to effectively castrate him at the base of the offensive thing. 

Crowley of course, expected this kind of retaliation, and quickly yanked himself out, following the action up with a sharp slap to Lucifer’s cheek, snapping the human’s head to the side. “No biting.” He used his grip on Lucifer’s hair to make the devil look at him. “Are you going to be good?” 

Lucifer didn’t answer him, continuing to glare at the demon, more annoyed that he’d used his mouth with such little _finesse_ , rather than the obvious complaint. 

Crowley tsks. “No? How unfortunate. Pets that bite get their fangs removed, Lu-lu.” 

Before the Devil had time to figure out what _that_ meant, Crowley’s hand was in his mouth again, this time pinching one of his teeth. 

Lucifer tried to jerk away as he realised what Crowley was about to do, but he was a second too late. Crowley yanked hard, and pulled Lucifer’s lower left canine right out of his head. 

The demon relished the short and involuntary cry of pain that Lucifer failed to hold back. The devil screams so deliciously, and Crowley wants _more_. 

Without waiting for Lucifer to recover, he goes right for the other canine, taking his time with this one--pulling it out agonisingly slowly. Lucifer screams again, unable to stop the long, piercing cry from leaving him. He tastes blood pooling in his mouth, and feels unbidden tears stinging his eyes. He _hates_ how weak this human body is, that he can’t even loose a few teeth without giving in to the pain. 

Crowley is squatting in front of him now, eyes lit up with glee as he tosses the second tooth aside and starts on Lucifer’s upper right canine. This one, he rips out at an angle, so the roots of it tear right through his gums, leaving an irreparable gash behind where the tooth was. Lucifer’s subsequent scream breaks off into a sob, eyes shut against the onslaught of pain he was experiencing. 

At this point, Lucifer wasn’t even trying to pull away or stop Crowley in any way; he was far too pain-dazed for that. Crowley was single-handedly holding the ex-archangel up by his short hair. 

Lucifer’s last canine was ripped from his gums, and he hardly had the strength to whimper as it was done. 

Crowley jerked the human’s head back so he was facing him. “Look at me, Lucifer.” 

Deciding he’d rather not give the demon reason to harm him further, Lucifer complied, glaring at Crowley through his tears. The bastard looked incredibly pleased with himself. “That’s a good lad. Bite me again, and I’ll do more than just take a few teeth out. Now, be a darling and open wide for me.” 

Crowley stood up, presenting Lucifer with his cock once more. He waved one hand, quickly dragging one of the room’s two chairs to him, where he seated himself and spread his legs wide, his swollen cock standing proudly erect between them. 

The human steadied himself with one hand on Crowley’s leg, hissing in pain as his hair was pulled again. His nose is still bleeding, so he licks his upper lip, which only succeeds in spreading the blood around, due to his equally bloody tongue. The world seems to spin slightly for him; the combination of being thrown around and the sudden loss of blood not doing him any favours. 

Lucifer was far from broken though. He may be tired, bruised, bloody, and overall a little worse for wear, but his fiery spirit still burned bright. This became evident through his livid glare and the angry snarl he releases in response to Crowley’s demand before spitting a glob of blood to the side. 

Crowley wouldn't have it any other way. What would be the fun in tearing down the Father of Hell if he didn't put up a good fight? His tone was victoriously smug as he chastised the angel. “Oh, no. No, that won’t do at all, kitten. Good pets don’t growl at their masters. Bad kitties get de-clawed, and you don’t want that, do you Lucifer?” The demon smirks as he decides on what to call his newest acquisition. Lucifer is definitely a cat; sleek, proud, unpredictable, and independent. Difficult to tame, but Crowley is more than willing to put the time and effort in. Hell, he may even draw it out longer than necessary. 

Like a switch had been flipped, the anger drained from Lucifer’s face, but remained in his eyes. He couldn’t quite contain all the rage boiling just underneath his skin, though he made a valiant effort to do so. He’d like to keep his fingers attached to his body. After all, unless he can get his grace back, this is the only body he’s got. 

Currently unable to think of anything to say that wouldn’t further piss the demon off, Lucifer just quickly shook his head and tentatively parted his (now very blood-stained) lips as Crowley had requested. His gaze remained locked on Crowley’s as he did so, the cold fire of his anger only visible in the focus of his icy blue eyes. 

Crowley found it mesmerising, immediately committing the image to memory, knowing now that he wanted to have _this_ all to himself. Lucifer’s hatred and defiance, all bottled up behind those eyes like miniature suns, just for him. Those bloody lips, parted and waiting, his lean body quivering slightly as his adrenaline began to wear thin, the exhaustion and pain beginning to overtake his all-too-human body. He wanted _this_ to be his, only his, forever and always. 

He didn’t say any of that though, just giving a mild hum of approval as he used the hand not currently holding Lucifer’s head in place to place the head of his cock just past Lucifer’s deliciously red and glistening lips. “Good kitty. Suck.” 

And Lucifer did. 

If his mouth wasn’t one big nerve of burning pain, Lucifer really wouldn’t have a problem with that order. He had a problem with Crowley just _using_ his mouth, but if it had been on his own terms, Lucifer might have even enjoyed sucking Crowley off. Partly because he enjoys using his talented tongue for anything and everything (translation: Lucifer has a massive oral fixation, despite finding fornication a generally repulsive act), and partly because if he did well enough, he’d likely earn some modicum of good will from the easily-manipulated demon. He’s more likely to survive long enough to get his grace back if he makes himself useful in some way to the current king of Hell. 

But right now, any slight nudge to the raw, exposed places his canine teeth had previously occupied sent immense pain shooting through his mouth, making it very hard to give a blowjob with any kind of finesse. 

Nevertheless he did his best, fresh tears appearing in his eyes as he took Crowley’s dick further and further down with each slow and dragging bob of his head. He involuntarily moaned in pain, and the vibrations from his throat felt like the most _wonderful_ thing Crowley had ever experienced, bringing him both pleasure physically and delight at Lucifer’s malcontent. The hand in the fallen angel’s hair loosened up until it was just resting on Lucifer’s head, fingers carding through the spiky blonde hair. _Petting_ him. 

Lucifer kept his eyes on Crowley’s all throughout the ordeal, as a silent reminder that while he was being compliant and ‘good’ now, he was far from tamed. 

He didn’t bite again, but he did drag his teeth along the swollen length on occasion, partly to keep Crowley’s attention on him, and partly to remind the demon that he still _could_ bite. He kept his pace slow, taking his time with each gradual in-and-out, making good use of his forked tongue  along the underside of Crowley’s now rock-hard length. 

Despite the immense pain it caused him each time, he made certain to give the shaft a hard suck as he pulled away, usually followed by a moan or hiss of pain. 

Crowley loved those the most, encouraging the devil with soft “good boy”s and “just like that”s each time. To him, Lucifer had never looked more beautiful than he did now, pretty red lips wrapped around his blood-slicked cock, and watery ice-blue eyes focused solely up on himself. It was breathtaking. 

From the way Crowley was looking down at him, Lucifer assumed he was doing a decent enough job, despite his reluctance to really commit to any one thing, for reasons that should be obvious. He himself gained no pleasure from it, too overcome with pain and disgust to register anything else. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the shooting pains from his torn gums or the cock in his mouth that disgusted him the most; it was his own blood, sharp, metallic, and permeating all of his senses. He couldn’t escape it, and the mere thought of such a basic and _human_ thing as _bleeding_ afflicting him was absolutely repulsive. 

Even if he were to miraculously get away from Crowley and make himself (relatively) safe once more, the blood would linger, inescapable proof that he was weakened and human, that he could be _hurt_. 

With this realisation, Lucifer felt a wave of exhaustion roll over him, and he so badly wanted to simply black out, disappear into the recesses of his mind and not have to participate in any more of this tedious experience. 

But common sense dictated that would be a bad idea, seeing as Crowley was more than capable of waking him back up in all sorts of nasty ways. And the demon would likely not appreciate his ‘pet’ falling asleep whilst sucking him off. 

His pace slowed down just a fraction, but Crowley noticed, somehow sensing how spent Lucifer’s limited human body truly was. The hand petting his (now damp from sweat) hair slipped down to the back of his head and took control of his motions, forcing Lucifer to take him down slightly faster, slightly deeper than he had before. Foreseeing where Crowley was going with this, Lucifer focused on relaxing his throat. He remembered the discomfort that he’d experienced not long before this, and he wasn’t eager to repeat it. 

It wasn’t long before Crowley decided he’d rather take his pleasure quick and fast, rather than let Lucifer draw it out (though he loved that, too). He leaned back in the simple wooden chair, his head tilting back as well, and his legs parting further, more relaxed. Gradually, he sped Lucifer up, until the human was having difficulty timing those wonderful things he could do. He pulled the ex-archangel in closer and closer until the entirety of his long dick was encased within the slick heat of Lucifer’s mouth with each slide in and out. 

He had to admit, this gradual build-up was far more enjoyable than the few gagging thrusts he’d forced on the human before. He supposes patience is a virtue for a reason. 

However, his is running out, and he can feel himself drawing closer and closer to his climax. Lucifer intermittently gave muffled groans and cries of pain, but otherwise offered up no resistance to the way in which he was being used. The human was gripping his legs tightly, probably looking for some other outlet for the pain he felt. Crowley could tell Lucifer’s humanity was getting the better of him, and found the irony of that disproportionately amusing. 

In all honesty, he had found the entire situation amusing. When his mother told him what she’d done, he had nearly died all over again, laughing so hard. Needless to say, that act, along with her help against Amara, had earned her amnesty with him again.  

He supposes it should be sad, to see such a wilful and bright spirit trapped within such a limited body, but he needed only to remind himself that it was _L_ _ucifer_ , and he felt no sympathy for the miserable being. 

Lucifer’s eyes remained trained on him below tired and drooping lids. If Crowley were so inclined to look down again, he’d see The Devil’s hooded gaze on him, set over defined cheeks which alternately hollowed and relaxed around his swollen length, which stretched those beautifully blood-red lips. The sight would almost be enough to make him come right there. 

But he didn't look down, he just continued thrusting himself into Lucifer’s throat. 

The demon didn't bother warning Lucifer when he was ready to come. He just pulled the devil all the way off and shot his load onto his face, his chest, his hair. Marking him. Claiming him. 

Lucifer was disgusted, but there was very little he could do about it. Crowley had already proved himself to be the stronger of the two, and at this point it would be dumb to test him any further. If he wanted to get away, he’d have to be more subtle. If he could get Crowley to take his clothes off, so he could find that damn sealing ward, _that_ would be ideal. Unlikely, but Lucifer’s determined to remain relentlessly optimistic about this situation. He’s got a chance to escape until the moment Crowley decides to kill him, or worse, drag him down to Hell with him. 

Thankfully, Crowley seemed to be in no rush to return there. 

Lucifer no longer had his attention fully on Crowley. Along with his thoughts, his eyes had drifted to the side, blank and unfocused. 

But Crowley would tolerate none of that. Lucifer is finally his, and he’s going to keep him that way. Every bit of him. 

The devil still had his lips slightly parted, panting shallowly after what Crowley just made him do. 

Without warning, Crowley pushed his thumb back into Lucifer’s mouth, smirking as the human’s attention snapped right back to him, eyes widening a fraction in confusion and maybe a touch of fear. What did he do now? Was Crowley going to hurt him again, even after that? 

He was right to fear the demon, since Crowley pressed his thumb into one of the gaps between his teeth, and _burned_ the raw and bleeding gums there. 

Lucifer struggled to escape his hold, Hands grasping at Crowley’s arm. He was unable to hold back another scream from ripping through his abused throat. 

When Crowley removed the digit, Lucifer’s icy glare was once again trained on him, beautiful in his quiet rage. Crowley smirked at him. “No daydreaming for you, kitty. Eyes on your master.” 

“Stop boring me, maybe I will.” The devil shot back hoarsely, not even registering that he hadn’t questioned Crowley calling himself his ‘master’. 

The demon just gives a self-satisfied smile at this as he tucked himself back into his slacks. “If you're so bored, perhaps I should give you a task. You're a filthy mess, Lu-lu. Be a good kitty and lick yourself clean.” 

Lucifer gets the feeling that he would’ve been made to do this whether or not he’d mouthed off. His nose wrinkles in disgust, repulsed by the idea of using his tongue to rid himself of this hellspawn’s spend.  

However, he did have to admit that he was impressed by Crowley’s ruthlessness in this. He can only imagine the self-restraint it took to pull out, just so he can watch Lucifer lick himself clean. Crowley must _really_ hate him. And that doesn't bode well for his immediate future. If Lucifer were a lesser man (or even just a more sane one), he’d lose hope right there. 

But he’s taking too long. He can feel Crowley’s impatience growing by the second. With a sordid “Meow”, Lucifer ran his thumb over his own cheek, collecting some of the sticky, white substance up before licking it off his thumb. 

The salty taste wasn't particularly bad, or good for that matter. It was more the knowledge of where it originated from that disgusted him. 

His thumb was slicked with red where he had licked it, and he was reminded once more of his mortality. He frowned slightly at the sight, realising the issue with this. How is he supposed to ‘clean’ himself when all he’ll manage to do is spread his own blood all around? (Between his missing teeth and his bloody nose, there was quite a lot of it.) Really, it was an oversight on Crowley’s part. 

Crowley seemed to notice the dilemma too, releasing a soft snort and reaching down to grasp Lucifer’s chin. 

The devil is ashamed to say he flinched. 

That draws a slight laugh from Crowley. “Ah, how the tables have turned. You say you aren't afraid, but your body tells another story.” He trailed a finger along Lucifer’s jawline. “Open up, I'm going to stop you from _leaking_. Can't have you making more of a mess, and it’d be a shame if you passed out from blood loss so soon. The fun’s only just started, kitten.” 

Lucifer didn't bother to hide his grimace at that _lovely_ thought. He fervently hoped that ‘stop the bleeding’ didn't equate to more burns between the gaps in his teeth. He didn’t know if he could withstand anymore of that without blacking out. 

But, like the obedient bitch he’s regrettably become (in the interest of self-preservation), the once-Archangel drops his jaw in response to the waiting thumb. Crowley hums appreciatively at the sight before inserting the thick digit. He rewards the man’s obedience by simply speeding up the healing process, so that when he pulled away, the gums between Lucifer’s remaining teeth were smooth, pink skin, giving the appearance of being old, long-healed flesh. He left the one he’d burned alone, though. A tap to his nose, and the blood stopped flowing from it. It made Lucifer wrinkle his nose up reflexively. The devil pulled back as soon as Crowley was done. He tongued curiously at the gaps, the way a child would after loosing a baby tooth. They didn’t hurt anymore, and he gave a mental sigh of relief. 

Before he could mentally steel himself to continue with the disgusting task set before him, Crowley was handing him something. He’d summoned a glass of some pungent-smelling amber liquid. Lucifer made no move to take it. “What’s that for?” 

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Crowley drawled, swirling the liquid around in the glass. “Drink up. It’s to wash the blood out of your mouth.” 

Seeing as it would probably be easier than trying to swallow all his own blood down, Lucifer acquiesced, taking the glass from Crowley’s hand. 

The first sip made him cough as it burned its way down his throat. He hasn’t had alcohol as a human yet, and was nowhere near ready for a drink as strong as scotch. Crowley laughed again, and Lucifer glared back at him. With his tongue mostly blood-free, he licked his lips clean of the mixture of blood and come that was beginning to dry there. Then he took a gulp of the fiery liquid, ready for the taste this time. If nothing else, it successfully wiped the metallic taste of blood from his tongue, and for that he was glad. 

He knows of alcohol’s numbing effects, so he wastes no time in downing the rest of the glass, praying that he has a low alcohol tolerance (unlikely, considering how often Nick drank to forget the horrendous things that happened to his family). Crowley made the glass disappear as soon as it was empty. 

If nothing else, the short respite from Crowley’s cruelty went a long way towards calming  Lucifer’s frazzled nerves. He was in actuality a lot less unfazed than he dared to let on. He thought he could take it, if it came to being captured. He had contingency plan upon contingency plan, but Crowley had torn them all apart without batting an eye, it seemed. There were very few options left to him, and it was becoming increasingly more unlikely that he’d get a chance to carry out any of them.  

His thoughts were wandering again, so Crowley drew him back to reality with a few snaps in front of his face. “Oi, you're still filthy. Clean yourself up, kitty-cat.” 

Lucifer really has to stop spacing out. It won't help him in this situation, not like it did in the cage, and not like it did when Amara had her way with him. Then, detaching himself from the situation served to help him ignore the pain, but in this case, it would only cause him to receive more. In that regard, this brand of torture was worse, if only because he didn't know how to cope with it. 

Lucifer mentally shook himself, mechanically doing as he was asked. Giving himself a fucking tongue bath. He distracted himself with thoughts of how he might still escape as he wiped his face clean and licked up the mess from his hand; just like a cat, as Crowley seemed so fond of reminding him. He came up with a couple things, but they were half-baked at best, and all required either something he didn't have, or for him to be unsupervised for a short while. The longer he remained like this, the more likely it seemed that the only shot he had left would be to get help from one of his still-loyal children in Hell. (If any even remained…) 

He managed to get all the stuff off, but persisted at the task anyways, in an attempt to stall Crowley’s next torment. 

“That’s enough.” Lucifer ignored him, rubbing furiously at his cheek like he had a bit of dried come still on it (he didn’t). Crowley knew better. “You've done a bloody good job, you can stop.” Lucifer didn’t, shaking his head quickly and not looking up at the demon. This was easy. He could do this. He didn't want to do something else, and he _didn't want_ to go to Hell. Not yet. Not ever. 

A second later, something frigid and wet splashed over him, causing him to yelp in surprise and cease what he was doing to glare indignantly at the source. Crowley had dumped a bucket of ice water on his head. Now, on top of his many bruises and various other injuries, his clothes were soaking wet, and _cold_. 

The demon tossed it aside, looking fairly pleased with himself. “You're done. To your feet, kitten.” Crowley was relieved to see Lucifer glaring at him. He almost thought he broke the ex-archangel already. But no, either he was only pretending to be so, he was stalling, or he was deep in thought, plotting an escape. Or perhaps all three, who knows? 

Lucifer had been on his knees for what felt like hours now, and they ached. It was difficult for him to stand, but he eventually did (albeit shakily). After so long looking up at Crowley, he almost forgot that he’s the taller one. 

Wearily, he looks down at the stout man, for once in his life simply too tired to make any snarky comments. His body can’t take much more of this, even while his spirit continues to fight tooth and nail to come up with a way out. 

Crowley’s grin of anticipation does nothing to soothe his worries. “Atta boy.” He snapped his fingers, and the table Lucifer had overturned was set upright once more. “You have two options, Lucifer. Strip, and place your hands on the table; or we skip off to Hell right now. Your choice, kitten.” 

Neither option appealed much to Lucifer. But he’d already decided that his chances of escaping were significantly higher as long as he remained out of Hell. So really, it wasn't much of a choice at all. Rather than answer, Lucifer turned his back to Crowley and began to pull his soaking wet shirt off over his head. It wasn't so much that he cared about his modesty, as he didn't care to have _Crowley’s_ eyes ogling him as he stripped down. At this point, he’ll do anything he can to deny Crowley any satisfaction possible. 

He felt Crowley’s eyes on his back as he walked slowly to the table and placed his hands on it, bracing himself for whatever was to come. Whipping, if he’s lucky. More likely, Crowley intends to fuck him. 

Either way, he’s screwed. 

“Hmm. Interesting choice. Not eager to return home, I see.” Crowley circled around the slightly shivering, but otherwise still as stone human. “Very well. There's only one rule. You must keep your hands on the table. Remove even one of them, and we’ll go directly to Hell, regardless of what state you're in. Succeed in keeping your hands on the table, and I’ll allow you a shower and rest before taking you away. Understand?” 

Tentatively, Lucifer nodded. He kept his eyes on the prowling demon, up until he disappeared from view behind him. Almost a minute passed, and then Crowley whistled, long and _loud_. It was the kind of two-fingered whistle that fans at football games use, and Lucifer had to use all his self-control not to cover his ears. 

Too late, he realised what Crowley could possibly want to whistle like that for. He heard a dog snarling from somewhere to his left, but didn't look. He knew he wouldn't see anything anyways. A hellhound. _Shit_. He’s _so_ screwed. 

Crowley laughs at the way he tenses up, sliding his hands up to grip the far edge of the table. “Wise decision.” The demon coos, and then gestures for his Hellhound to come closer. “You're my bitch now, Lucifer. And my bitches are Romeo here’s favourite playmates. Say hi, Romeo.” 

The dog gives a deep, earth-shattering bark. 

Lucifer cringes. Is it too late to choose Hell? 

The former Devil heard a chair dragging on the ground behind him, and then the distinct thump of a body dropping down into it. Crowley intended to simply watch, apparently. 

Lucifer slowed his breathing, anticipating the pain a hellhound could do. Those beasts are specifically trained to cause maximum pain before dragging their designated souls down to Hell. This would _not_ be easy. 

“Have fun, boy.” Crowley ordered the hellhound casually. 

Lucifer felt the beast draw nearer, and felt it’s breath as it sniffed him. . . and then turned away and _whined_. 

Crowley’s voice was stern when he spoke up next. “He’s not your master, _I_ am. Do what you're told, blasted mutt.” 

Huh. The hellhound recognised him. Nice to know. 

Not that it was likely to help him in any way… 

The Hellhound whined again, but returned its attention back to Lucifer. It sniffed him some more, making Lucifer shiver from the strange attention. Why wasn't the Hellhound just attacking— 

Lucifer stiffened in surprise. He felt something wet and warm lick along the curve of his ass, followed by a strange noise, somewhere between a growl and a purr. The dog licked him again, this time getting between the cheeks. 

It was then that Lucifer understood the double meaning behind Crowley’s ‘bitch’. This hound must be the alpha of his pack. 

Which made Lucifer… 

No. He didn't want to think about it. 

The next tongue stroke found his entrance, and Lucifer squirmed uncomfortably as the rough wetness tickled the inside of his anus. His grip on the edge of the table tightens involuntarily, and he shuts his eyes. All he has to do is hold onto the table. Nothing else. He can do this. 

Now the dog is licking in earnest, his tongue dipping inside him each time, slowly opening him up and slicking his skin. 

Lucifer didn’t realise he was biting his lip to keep himself silent until he broke skin and tasted his own blood again. He silently cursed himself and his current humanity. He made himself bleed _again_. 

And then, it dawned on him. This is perfect. Crowley is behind him, and therefore can’t see what he’s doing, and he’s got an ample supply of human blood at his disposal. Now with a goal in mind, Lucifer purposely bit harder into his lip, masking his gasps of pain as being in respond to the hellhound’s ministrations. 

He slides one hand more toward him, and releases his lip so that the blood will drop onto the table. He tongues at his burned-over gap, hoping to break the skin again. If he can just get enough blood to draw a banishing sigil… maybe he can get out of here before he has to suffer any more indignities. 

It was slow going, but dripping blood onto the table and using his thumb to spread it into the correct pattern seemed to be working. And if Crowley noticed him doing anything, the demon didn't let on. It was harder than he expected, as his lip and gums didn't produce nearly enough blood for him to make as clear lines as he’d like. Each line was taking up what felt like _too much_ time. It was agonising and tedious, but it was the only shot he had right then, so he was going to take it no matter what. 

When his ass felt gross and thoroughly slicked, the ring of muscle that made up his entrance quivering from being licked open so many times, the tongue abruptly stopped. Lucifer unconsciously tenses up, knowing now that he’s not going to escape this latest indignity. He knows what comes next, so he shouldn't be shaking so badly. But he can't control it, and his body betrays him; reacting naturally to the fear he refuses to acknowledge he feels. 

He can’t keep his hand still, and that makes it harder to draw the sigil. He stops for a moment, knowing he won't make any decent progress on it like this. With his luck, he’ll just screw it up and have to start over. 

He buries his head in the crook of his arm, measuring his breaths and trying to clear his mind. He can do this. He _can_ do this. 

He can suffer through this minor speed bump in the course of his long life, and he’ll come out stronger for it. 

Try as he might, he can't stop his heartbeat from speeding up as the enormous, invisible dog gets its fore-paws up on the table, shaking the simple piece of furniture under its massive weight. Lucifer’s eyes shut tighter, knowing what comes next, and knowing there’s absolutely nothing he can do to stop it. 

One stupid decision, one bad choice put him in this spot. He never should have trusted that sweet-talking bitch. He should have known _better_.  

The hound is clumsy. Large, strong, and obviously experienced in this regard, but clumsy. The canine physique doesn’t allow for much grace and poise. It's intelligent, and it seems to know that the human beneath him isn't really meant for this, but it has orders. Hellhounds are good at following orders. 

It inelegantly ruts against Lucifer’s slicked ass several times before its member finally catches on the hole it took so long to open up for itself. 

Alpha Hellhounds are hung like horses, so it’s no surprise when Lucifer cries out hoarsely as he’s entered in one rough, swift thrust. Crowley _almost_ pities him, being the only one (besides the dog itself) able to see the full picture. The dog is almost as big as Lucifer himself, and the demon can tell that it takes all Lucifer’s willpower to keep holding onto the table. The heartbreaking shout of pain is repeated multiple times as the dog realises it hit its target, and starts humping the human in earnest, giving no regard to the damage it was doing to the too-small hole it was ordered to fuck. 

The dog pant heavily, obviously enjoying the unusual tightness of Lucifer’s anus, and sets a brutally quick and uneven pace. 

Lucifer eventually stops screaming, and Crowley can just barely make out the white-knuckled grip of his right hand on the table past the Hellhound covering his body with his own. He can’t see the devil’s left hand, but he assumes it’s doing much the sam thing. He’s still conscious then, which Crowley didn't expect. He was sure Lucifer would pass out and lose his grip on the table. It seems he underestimated the devil’s resilience, and he’s pleasantly surprised by the fact. Good, he wants to watch this particular being suffer. He wants Lucifer to feel every second of the pain he’s given, the embarrassment he himself felt as the Fallen Angel’s _pet_. 

The Devil is finally getting some long-overdue comeuppance. 

Revenge is sweet. 

And the quiet, broken sobs now escaping the devil’s lips just make it that much sweeter. 

Pain. All Lucifer registers is pain, for what _feels_ like hours, but was probably only a minute. He’s being split in half from the inside, and he doesn't even have the strength left in his legs to move, kick, or do much of anything in defence. He’s not entirely sure he even still _has_ legs, as all he can feel below his waist is _pain_. 

He doesn't even know he’s screaming until the shock takes over and he goes numb, and ceases to do anything but _take_ it. Distantly, he hears his own sobs. 

He feels himself beginning to slip into unconsciousness, and he welcomes the idea, sure that _anything_ would be better than this living nightmare. 

But his eyes remain open, and he focuses on the edge of the old wooden table digging into his fingers. He catches sight of the half-drawn sigil, and knows that he can't sleep, not yet. He has to complete it. He has to beat Crowley. He has to get away. 

He finds that the blood comes easier now. He bit his tongue when the dog entered him, and the fresh wound helps him get what he needs more quickly than before. It's still a slow process, especially with how fuzzy his mind is, darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision. 

The dog pulls out too far, and it slips out of Lucifer’s hole again, the animal’s thick organ pressing against the slobber-covered crease of his ass. The dog fumbles a bit, aiming and missing multiple more times. It ruts against him, and Crowley muses that it’s miracle Lucifer isn't bleeding internally from having something so large and obviously not meant to be within his body thrusting inside him at such a brutal pace. It's amazing, just how much Lucifer has proven himself capable of withstanding. Crowley would just love to test him and find exactly where his limit lies. 

The dog’s problem is that it's penis is now fully erect, curving upward just enough to prevent it from catching on Lucifer’s entrance. To remedy this, it adjusts its position, one enormous paw holding Lucifer’s mostly-limp body down beneath it as it presses its belly flush against the devil’s back. The next time it humps Lucifer’s ass, it slides back inside, tearing yet another weak cry from the human’s lips. 

The cries dissolve into fevered babbling. . . no, no that’s Enochian. Crowley listens hard, translating what he recognises. He almost laughs when he realises what Lucifer’s doing. The sad sap is _praying_ , of all things. Praying to his father, begging for this to end, and asking for the strength to survive. 

Whether his prayer is answered, Crowley doesn't know. One moment, Lucifer’s a seemingly half-mad mumbling mess under Romeo, and the next he’s taken one hand off the table, bitten into it hard enough to draw blood, and slammed it back on the table with a shouted word of Enochian. 

Crowley feels a gut-wrenching _lurch_ , and blacks out. When he wakes up, he’s back in Hell, without the slightest clue as to how he got there. Romeo is beside him, confused and whimpering as he paws at the ground he’s laying on. By the time he manages to return to the shack, Lucifer is long gone. 

Once the banishing goes off successfully, Lucifer slumps in relief as both Hellhound and master are sent to Hell. They won't be capable of returning for several hours yet. Assuming the worst, that they regain consciousness within fifteen minutes, he’ll still have at least six hours. But the banishing should put Crowley out for at least half an hour, maybe a whole hour if he’s lucky. And an hour in the ninth circle of Hell translates to a full day on Earth. So he bought himself roughly between 6 and 24 hours of safety. 

Despite that, Lucifer knows he can’t relax. 

He got away. _This_ time. 

But now he’s injured, and low on anti-demon supplies. 

What’s to stop Crowley from coming back and just dragging him straight to hell next time? He needs some kind of protection. Something to keep Crowley from tracking him. Or something powerful enough to make Crowley think twice about coming after him. 

… Or some _one_. 

When the feeling returns to his legs, he stumbles over to the glorified shack’s crappy shower, and uses the hot water to soothe his screaming muscles and stinging wounds. 

He doesn't take any longer than absolutely necessary, then redresses himself and gets into his stolen car. 

He’s decided. 

If you can't beat ‘em, join ‘em. He’d rather put himself at the Winchester’s mercy than Crowley or Rowena’s, so he starts on the long drive to their Bunker, the constant pain in his ass only worsened by his seat. It serves as both a reminder of why he was going to hand himself over to the hunters, and a battle scar from a hard-won victory. 

Because human or not, Lucifer’s a tough cookie, and one hella resourceful _bad_ - _ass_ motherfucker. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this, and I'm sorry if I creeped you out or something. I honestly don't know what put me in such a bad mood that I would write this.  
>  Lucifer is my favourite character. I promise. I don't know why I enjoy beating him up so much.  
>  I'm honestly afraid of the me that wrote this. Like Jesus, past me. What the actual fuck?
> 
> Criticism? Praise? Wanna tell me I'm a twisted fuck? Wanna tell me that we're both twisted fucks?  
>  Leave a comment! ❤
> 
> • • •
> 
> **Edit 12.04.16: This is now part of a series, and a sequel is in the works, due to popular demand. The sequel will be M-rated, and will focus on Lucifer holing up with the Winchesters, and all that entails. Comments make me write faster!!**
> 
> **Edit 12.12.16: There is now a prequel also in the works, and in order for the story to fit as well as it needs to, changes have been made to certain parts of Comeuppance (particularly the beginning). Minor spelling/grammar/word choice errors have also been remedied.**


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